


Comfort

by momentarycarbonstory



Category: Jak II - Fandom, Jak and Daxter
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 10:29:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2648717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momentarycarbonstory/pseuds/momentarycarbonstory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She finds him sitting on the roof of the old Underground base two weeks after the Daystar's destruction. If he's not smiling, it's no mystery why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own that Jak series. I only have 4 of the games, and some beautiful (and frustrating) memories.

She finds him sitting on the roof staring out over the sea of shingles and concrete below, a darkened statue against the setting suns. Not the first time she's found him here (and won't be the last) but there's no gun this time. Maybe he'll leave old routines behind one day.

Barefoot from a moment's indecision about shoes, Tess picks her way carefully as the cold stone bites her skin. He'd probably heard her the moment she'd made up here, knows what she's here for, but remains unmoved once she reaches him, neither ignorant of her existence nor receptive to it. A shiver against the onslaught of wind, and she tugs her simple shawl closer, scanning the horizon out of habit for trouble. Not much happened nowadays save for a corner in the alleys filled with the light of Hellcat sirens, the odd explosion maybe. Rebellions and anarchists hardly pose a problem now, so there's no distraction from the odd little personal troubles once filed away in lieu of more dangerous pursuits. Ugly things like doubt and worry, compounded into moments like these when you could and usually would tell yourself I told you so.

Quiet. He doesn't want to say anything and she doesn't even know what to say or how to say it. Everyone here seems to know, somehow, about what'd happened out near Spargus after the Daystar's destruction. Former Underground members still clinging to the base were talking about how the blonde-green elf really was the no-good kid they'd always thought he was. Talk of the Governess is decidedly tamer by way of how fewer expletives were dropped. The underhanded turns of phrase and subtle metaphors promising humiliation, however, flowed plentifully. They said nothing of this in front of Torn, but he knew; the sudden silences were as telling as the talk. That he hasn't told them to stop is either a sign of how depressed he might be or how he's just too tired to give a damn. Maybe both.

He'll never let on that he's either of these. People picked up a lot of bad habits from their time as Undergrounders in order to combat the loneliness, the lack of normal interaction, of the caring and comforting environment most families provided even in such a difficult city. Torn had carried wordlessness with him even before joining, and it still worried her how he wouldn't say anything about what he felt no matter how much time had passed. The only way she could ever tell was by looking at his eyes. Currently they were staring into the horizon with steely, haggard resolution, searching for something to remind him of why he bothers with the things he does. The city's been free for a year — a miracle in a world where such mercies seemed scarce — and he;s the same as before. Always worn, always with shoulders sagging, a heavier step in his walk, a hunted look etched permanent with the lines on his face.

The useless condolences won't do any good but she has to start somewhere.

"I'm sorry," she says softly, resisting the urge to stare at him and figure out if he feels anything at all.

He continues to stare off, letting out a derisive snort. She presses on.

"...Wanna talk about it?"

This time he lets out a tiny growl under his breath, doing the impossible by scowling deeper than he already was.

"None a' your damn business," he rasps, eyes trailing opposite of her.

She doesn't bristle at the harshness of his words because she knows why, has lived through thick and thin with him and the others, knows his mannerisms and scowls better than anyone else. And maybe it hurts a little and maybe he has no excuse, but she understands.

So she sighs, tugs off her shawl, and closes the conversation. "...Alright," she replies, draping the cloth around his shoulders. "Just don't stay up too late."

It takes getting halfway back across the roof before she hears his voice.

"Tess."

She looks back. Over his shoulder, one steadfast eye regards her before he faces the horizon again.

"...Sorry," he mumbles.

A slow, tired, but kindly smile blooms on her face, and she shakes her head as if he'll see. "It's alright, Torn."

Silence hangs heavy for an eternity before he speaks again, clumsy because this is one thing he cannot do alone. "...Join me?"

Both pretend he hasn't asked as she pads back over to the broken chimney serving as a chair. He keeps tight hold of the shawl between fingers knotted from trigger-pulling and an unsubstantial diet, offering the other half once the wind stops howling in their ears. She takes it, rests her head on his shoulder, and he doesn't complain.

"...I'm sorry," she says again after a while, her voice a whisper, pressing her cheek into the leather padding his arm. He'd never accept a hug.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees his jaw clench, though not from anger, eyebrows furrowing one degree more while his scowl drops, and the sigh he heaves holds more resignation and heartbreak than he could ever have put into words. She wonders if there will ever be a day when he finds a way talk about these things, if there's any language that's powerful enough to convey what he feels before the injuries run too deep.

"...It's okay, kid," he says quietly.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I have a tiny headcanon that sprouted into many pages of things that aren't published, which involves Tess talking it upon herself to adopt Torn as an older brother, Torn hating it, and then becoming so used to it that it he accepts it by the time Tess gets older. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Go and hug someone.


End file.
